The State We're In
by likebutter
Summary: Bruce realizes his feelings for Clark run beyond a simple friendly fondness. Awkwardness ensues between both parties. Batman/Superman.


Bruce doesn't know what possessed him to finally ask Clark out to lunch after months of debating his feelings over the Kryptonian.

Initially, he thought his discomfort around him was dislike, but no one could possibly dislike Clark Kent. Besides, the butterflies in his stomach whenever he sees Clark smile are definitely not of dislike.

He decides that maybe it could be a crush.

Apparently, Diana noticed, although Bruce was sure he was a master of concealing his emotions, and insisted he take a trip to Metropolis and ask Clark out to lunch.

'It's only lunch,' Diana had insisted when Bruce began to protest.

So here he is now, sitting across from Clark, tapping his glass of ginger ale with his fingers as Clark shifted in his seat awkwardly, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"So," Clark begins, "how's work?"

Why did he do this? He should be at home researching about the latest escape of The Joker in the Bat-Cave, not noticing how blue Clark's eyes looked behind his glasses.

"Fine," Bruce replies. "How's work?"

Clark shrugs and smiles. "I'm currently not working on any stories. So I haven't been busy."

Bruce can feel his face heat up when he's at a complete loss for words when he sees that smile light up his companion's boyish features. He's completely lost when it comes to things like this.

Clark can probably hear my heart right now.

"Bruce, is there something wrong?" Clark's voice is genuine with concern, which makes Bruce's belly warm and tingly. I'm going to the bathroom and never coming back.

"No. Just tired," he murmured in reply, before sipping at his beverage and refraining from the urge to get up and leave. His hands shakes slightly. "Was up late, The Joker escaped."

Clark smirks. "When are you not up late, Bruce?"

The billionaire has to force a chuckle at that.

* * *

When they finish their lunch over arguing for about five minutes over who should pay the bill ('Clark, I asked you for lunch. I'm paying.' 'No, I'm capable of paying too, Bruce!') and after deciding to split it, the two realize it's absolutely pouring and they have no umbrella, so they decide to leg it to Clark's apartment, which is only a few blocks away. Though Bruce makes it a point not to even look at Clark, he can see out of his peripheral that something is bothering the other man but doesn't ask what exactly it is.

Upon finally reaching Clark's apartment, the owner deadbolts the door behind them. Thunder clashes loudly, and Bruce realizes that he's tracked mud into Clark's apartment. Feeling rather sheepish, he slides off his coat, soaked sweater, and places his shoes in the pile by the door. Clark does the same.

Left in only a tee shirt and his jeans, Bruce makes an excuse to go put his shirt an in the drier. The other man calls after him.

"Bruce." His voice cracks. Maybe it's the sexiest thing Bruce has ever heard.

Dismissing those thoughts from his mind, he turns to face the Kryptonian. "Yes?"

The other man steps toward him, closing only a marginal amount of the distance between them. Some far away part of the billionaire is disappointed. "I know, and I think you do too, that our friendship has become more strained lately."

Bruce nods, at a lost of words as to what to reply with. Clearly, Clark wasn't finished, because he opened his mouth to speak again.

"I know why, at least on my behalf."

What point was he getting at?

Clark turns away, sighing, seemingly collecting his thoughts. Bruce doesn't move or speak, doesn't know what to do.

"I think what I feel about you," he begins, "is more than platonic."

Bruce's heart is_ racing_ and he knows Clark can hear it,_ knows_ that Clark knows that his head is absolutely spinning and can feel how genuinely_ terrified_ and happy he is in that moment. Bruce doesn't know what to do but he goes with what he thinks he should do. Moving toward Clark, he placed a hand on a broad shoulder and the farm-boy turns to face him.

"Me too," Bruce can only manage to reply, his stoic mask crumbling to reveal the vulnerable man, no, boy beneath. The same boy kneeling besides his parents in Crime Alley, more than thiry years ago. Clark moves a hand to cup the back of Bruce's head and pulls him in for a kiss. Bruce drops the clothes from his hands, surprised, but doesn't oppose at all. He returns the kiss after a moment.

They fit seamlessly together, like designated inconsistencies falling into place. Bruce melts into the liplock and deepens it, and before they know it they're lost in each other.

Thunder roars loudly outside and the power goes out.


End file.
